


Need

by kscribbles



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Peter knows he's not the best thing for Charley, so he decides that for Charley's own good, he should break up with him. CHARLEY AIN'T HAVING IT. He screws Peter's guilt into submission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lj community FrightNight2011's kinkmeme: http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html

Charley stretched out on the satin sheets, slowly waking up.  He could tell he was alone in the bed, but that didn’t make him any more inclined to leave the warmth and comfort of it any time soon.  When he felt he could open his eyes, he checked his watch.  Past 9 am.  Damn, that was going to take some explaining to Mom when he got home.  He supposed he could go with the truth.  Well, half-truth.  It was a long night of vampire hunting, and rather than drive himself home, he crashed on Peter’s couch.  She didn’t have to know that by couch, he meant bed, and by vampire hunting he meant vampire hunting _and_ fucking.  
   
He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and then slid out of bed and into his jeans before going in search of Peter.  
   
The man in question was leaning against the wall of glass that looked out onto the Strip, beige and chrome as far as the eye could see.  Peter already had a drink in his hand.  That wasn’t good.  He had been pushing Midori-o’clock towards the afternoon, but apparently it wasn’t a ‘moderation’ kind of day.  
   
Peter looked up at him when he came in, a frown etched on his face.   Charley ignored it.  
   
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully.  
   
“You should get home,” Peter said.  No ‘morning’ in return, no nothing.  
   
“Yeah, mom might give me some hell.  Nothing I can’t handle.”  
   
When Charley approached him, Peter turned towards the window and looked out.  That was a little odd.  Though not particularly a morning person, Peter was _tactile_ and never purposely avoided touching.  
   
“Right.  Best be off then,” Peter said, almost absently.  
   
Charley scratched his head, clearing the last of the sleep fog, wondering what was up with Peter.  
   
“Yeah, okay.  I’ll be back later, though.” Charley said, trying and failing not to sound suggestive.  
   
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”  
   
What?  “Yeah, sure whatever.  Are you busy tonight?”  
   
“Tonight and every night thereafter, Charley.”  Peter sighed as he turned around and swept past him, heading for the bar and a refill of his drink.  
   
Charley was more confused than ever.  “So you’re telling me to go?  To go and never come back?”  
   
“That’s what I’m telling you,” Peter said calmly, raising his glass and toasting him.  Toasting him _goodbye_ , apparently.  
   
“Why?”  
   
“Why?”  Peter spat with surprising venom.  “Because I’m not interested in having a clandestine relationship with a high school student.”  
   
“I graduated last week,” Charley pointed out, reasonably.  “You threw me a party.”  
   
“Yeah.  During which you fucked your girlfriend.  And, while she lay sleeping in the next room, you came into my bedroom and fucked _me_.  Does that strike you as _healthy_?  
   
“Not especially, but—”  
   
“But nothing.  Go _home_ , Brewster.”  
   
Charley stared at him.   He was absolutely serious.  And there wouldn’t be any arguing with Peter when he was half-drunk and convinced he was right.  
   
“Fuck you, _Vincent_.”  
   
\- - -  
   
He was serious, it seemed.  Two weeks went by with absolutely no word from Peter.  Two weeks where things went back to absolutely normal.  Mom and Amy never talked about vampires, and barely mentioned Peter except to ask, once each, why they weren’t hanging out anymore.  Charley would answer vaguely with something about Peter being busy with his show.  
   
Charley, for his part, was going a little stir crazy.  Getting ready for college, buying clothes, picking classes, it was all a little boring… ordinary.  There were _vampires_ out there that needed staking or sunning.  There was a crazy Englishman alone in a penthouse that needed _him_.  Charley wasn’t an idiot.  He knew why Peter put a halt to things.  For Charley’s own good.  Which was crap.  He couldn’t unsee the things he’d seen, and he couldn’t erase what had happened.  He didn’t _want_ to.  And he’d be god damned if he’d let Peter feel _guilty_ about any of it.  He just couldn’t figure out how to fix things, how to get Peter to see him again.  
   
Turned out he didn’t have to.  Two weeks and one day after Peter kicked him out ‘for good,’ he got a text message that just said: _Found a nest.  North Vegas.  Dawn tomorrow_.  Followed by an address.  And just as Charley was smiling to himself after reading it, he got a second message.   _Come be a big damn hero_.  
   
Aww, Peter missed him.  
   
 - - -  
   
Damn, Peter _missed_ him.  Watching Charley help take out the vamp nest like he was born to do it, wielding that stake like it was part of him (and at least once yelling “Get back, demons!” just for fun), just drove it home.  He didn’t have to cut the kid completely off, did he?  Just had to… keep his hands to himself.  
   
But when they ran out of the burning building _they’d_ set on fire, into the midmorning sun, and Charley threw an arm around his waist and snogged him good and proper, probably without even thinking about what he was doing, just delighting in killing the vamps and saving themselves, Peter couldn’t help but kiss him back.  
   
He allowed himself this small indiscretion for a minute, only a minute, before he reluctantly pushed Charley back.  
   
“I meant what I said, you know.”  
   
“Yeah,” Charley snorted, and then smiled, those damn soulful eyes sparkling at him.  “Except you didn’t.”  And then in the middle of this suburban street, with a house burning behind them, the cheeky kid slid his palm over Peter’s crotch, where he was already a little hard.  “You _are_ interested.”  
   
Peter groaned and stepped back, staring up at the sun, pretending to think about it, when the decision was made the second he sent those texts last night.  
   
“Fuck you’re a hard habit to break, Charley.”  
   
He’d never driven so fast back to the Hard Rock.  
   
\- - -  
   
That afternoon, he made good on the first promise he’d ever made Charley.  He popped his cherry.  They’d shagged a handful of times before, but Peter had never fucked _him_.  Not wanting to scare him off, he’d never suggested it.  But today Charley _asked_.  And when someone like Charley asks you to fuck them, and you’re weak like Peter is, you do as you’re asked.  
   
He was trying to be gentle, and not just drill Charley into the mattress, to not work out his rage at his own neediness, his anger at this dumb kid that didn’t know what was good for him.  Because this would be Charley’s first time and their _last_ time, God help him.  So he moved slowly, carefully, drawing it out as much as he could, trying to make it good for Charley, and trying to make the moment (and the memory it would become) last.  But Charley’s soft, needy whimpers of pleasure were too much for him and it was over much sooner than he would have liked.   And bless the kid’s eagerness; at least Charley came before he did.  
   
Afterwards, they lay spooned together, the warm desert sun streaming through the windows, and Peter steeled his courage to kick Charley out, again.  At least… out of his bed.  He already knew he wasn’t strong enough for all of it, even if it was best for Charley to not be mixed up with a damaged, drunk, illusionist.  
   
Charley turned in his arms and looked at him.  Rubbed his nose against his, an almost painful gesture of affection, before he kissed him softly.  
   
“There’s nothing for you to feel guilty about, you know.”  
   
It was Peter who snorted, disbelieving, this time.  
   
“I’m serious,” Charley went on.  “Ed, Doris… They would have died even if I’d never met you.”  
   
Peter didn’t mention Ginger. ? Charley didn’t need any of Peter’s guilt over that.  
   
“And I might be dead if I hadn’t snuck into your theater that day.”  
   
“Maybe,” Peter conceded, flipping onto his back.  
   
“And us… not doing _this_ ” he smacked a hand against Peter’s chest in emphasis, “isn’t going to make me any more or less _well-adjusted_ , okay?  I think we’re all going to be a little fucked up for a while.   And that’s _okay_.  You hear me?”  
   
“I hear you.  But you don’t know what you’re talking about.”  He reached over to the nightstand fishing for a cigarette, but Charley yanked his arm back, pinning both of Peter’s hands over his head as he straddled him.  
   
“Hey!” Charley said, but he was laughing, “If I have to screw the guilt out of you, I will.”  
   
“Well,” Peter finally allowed, knowing he would probably never be able to resist Charley.  “I suppose you could try.”

 

FIN


End file.
